Checkmate
by catlover5040
Summary: He wasn't about to tell Abigail that, oh, no he wasn't. A girl, this girl had one-upped him and it burned so deep. He had to get her back, and yes, he would. When Shawn and Abigail first meet in the eighth grade, it's not love at first sight, not even close.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych.  
**

**This story is about Shawn and Abigail in the eighth grade.**

* * *

"Shawn! Shawn!" Gus ran up to Shawn, who was putting his lunchbox in his locker. "Shawn, did you see her?"

"Who?" Shawn asked uninterestedly.

Gus sighed in exasperation. "The new girl!"

"No," Shawn answered. "Who is she?"

"Her name's Abigail Lytar," Gus said excitedly. "She's pretty and in our homeroom and all the teachers like her."

"Well, take me to this Abigail Lytar," Shawn said, closing his locker door and putting in the combination to lock it.

"You'll see her in second period, which we're late for," Gus said, dragging his friend by the arm towards their homeroom.

When they entered the room, there was a girl with light-brown hair standing primly by the blackboard, spelling a word for the teacher.

"...T-I-C-A-T-E. Domesticate," she said, and sat down to mild applause.

"Very nice, Abigail. Next word- Oh, Shawn!" The teacher smiled when she saw him. "Why don't you come up here and spell our next word for us?"

Shawn glanced frantically at Gus, who shrugged innocently. He groaned and went to the front of the room.

"Yes, Ms. Bell," he muttered, facing the entire class.

"Shawn, spell 'bankruptcy'," the teacher commanded.

"Bankruptcy. B-A-N-K-R-U-P-T-C-Y. Bankruptcy," he said mechanically.

"Very good," said the teacher. "Who wants to spell our next- Abigail?"

Abigail already had her hand in the air, practically on the edge of her seat.

"Okay, Abigail, spell 'hazardous'," the teacher ordered.

"Hazardous. H-A-Z-A-R-D-O-U-S," Abigail said very quickly. "Hazardous."

"And who wants to- Shawn?" Ms. Bell looked confused at this unusual show of interest on Shawn's part. "Alright, spell 'perseverance'."

"Perseverance. P-E-R-S-A-V-E-R-A-N-C-E. Perseverance."

"That's wrong," Abigail called from the back before Ms. Bell could even say anything. She ran up to the chalkboard, her brown hair flying, and snatched up a piece of chalk. In big letters, she wrote PERSEVERANCE across the board.

"P-E-R-S-E-V-E-R-A-N-C-E," Abigail read, looking at Shawn defiantly. "P-E-R-S-E. Not A, E. What, did you skip seventh grade?"

Truth was, Shawn had skipped most of seventh grade, but he wasn't about to tell Abigail that, oh, no he wasn't. A girl, this girl had one-upped him and it burned so deep, he had to get her back.

"Fine," he said smoothly. "You got me there. E, not A." He calmly went to sit down in his seat, his brain spinning.

"Would anyone besides Abigail like to spell the next word?" Ms. Bell asked tentatively, but it was too late. Abigail had already run up to the front of the room.

"What's my word, Ms. Bell?" she asked dangerously, glaring out at Shawn.

"Er-" Flustered, their teacher glanced down at her word sheet. "Discrepancy."

"Discrepancy. D-I-S-C-R-E-P-A-N-C-Y. Discrepancy," Abigail said hotly.

"Shawn-" Ms. Bell started to say, but Shawn was flying up to the board, using all of his five-feet-five-inches to intimidate Abigail.

"If you think you're so great, Ms. Abigail Lytar, then spell this for me," he snarled. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

"That's not fair!" Abigail snapped. "I bet you can't spell it!"  
"S-U-P-E-R-" Shawn started, and tried again. "S-U-P-E-R-"

"See, you can't spell it," Abigail said, crossing her arms defiantly. "No-one can."

"Including you," Shawn taunted.

"S-U-P-E-R-C-A-L-I-" Abigail tried to spell it and faltered.

"Loser!" Shawn made the 'loser' sign on his forehead.

"Children-" Ms. Bell tried to intervene, but the argument was beyond that now.

"You can't spell it!"

"Neither can you!"

"I hate you!"

"Good!"

"I bet you can't tell me how many hats are in the room," Shawn teased.

"How many hats? What kind of a question is that?" Abigail demanded.

"A fair one." Shawn yanked Abigail's headband off and tied it around his eyes. "Four. Kid in the back row with a blue baseball cap, girl with a beret, guy with a beanie, and-" he paused in surprise. "Who the heck wears a bowler hat to school?"

Abigail looked baffled for a split second, then snatched her headband back. "Fine. I can do that too. Ask me something," she added defiantly as she tied the headband around her own eyes.

"Alright, fine. How many people are wearing earrings?"

"Earrings?" she complained. "That's not a fair question. You get hats and I get earrings?"

"You said you could do it," Shawn answered. "How many pairs of earrings in the room?"

"Uh-" Abigail fidgeted. "Three?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll give you that. Describe them."

"Okay, there's a girl with hoop earrings, a girl with flower earrings, and a girl with plain purple ones." She pulled the headband off and smiled at him smugly.

"Wrong," Shawn said evenly.

"Wrong?" she looked dismayed.

"I said how many pairs. There are three and a half pairs in this room," he said self-importantly.

"Three and a half?" Abigail exclaimed.

"Yeah. That dude's wearing a diamond earring on his left ear." Shawn pointed at a boy sitting in the back row.

"Close enough!" Abigail snapped, scowling now.

"Close enough isn't good enough for a detective," Shawn said, quoting his father's words. "Hey, Abigail, spell this for me."

"What?" she asked, relieved that this was something she could do.

He winked at her. "Checkmate."


End file.
